


Ouroboros

by ElevenGaleStorms



Series: Cave Canem [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Dark, F/M, Historical Accuracy, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Protective!Elise, Protective!Shay, Protectiveness, Templars, historical events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-01-07 10:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElevenGaleStorms/pseuds/ElevenGaleStorms
Summary: If you are interested to know, Arno's air rifle is the Girandoni air rifle, a weapon used during the Lewis and Clark expedition as well as in the Austrian Army. Also, this takes place shortly after the time Germain was killed in canon. As for why I decided to have genderbend Arno in this, the reason has to do with the upcoming prequel I want to write. Another thing I would like to mention is that Shay will be a main character in this, of course. So he will be appearing in the next chapter. I just wanted this chapter to introduce things and set the events in motion like Arno finding out the truth from the Assassin captive.





	1. ever on and on, I continue circling

“How does it feel to know that mentor of yours killed your father?” The Assassin sneered at her with evident disgust and hatred in his gaze, “Oh, and did I forget about how you spat on your father’s legacy.” The Assassin tched, “He must be rolling in his grave knowing that-”

Arno shot him an unimpressed look, “I think you have more pressing things to worry about, Assassin,” A smile of sorts spread her lips wide, “So _ta gueule_ ,” she smirked, “Ah, I should mention that the good doctor wanted to conduct some research on you… for the betterment of society, of course.”

“You, _salope_!”

“You know us, Templars. Always wanting the best for humanity. Now, why don’t you help us with that?” Arno started backing away with a smirk on her lips, “Say hello to the good doctor for me, will you?”

“Go to-” His furious statement was cut off as his voice soon became muffled. Ah, it seems Doc was getting tired of the screaming. She could understand.

They always did scream a tad too much, after all.

“Good luck with him, Doc.” she bid farewell to the ‘good doctor.'

“Same to you, Arno.” A dark look flashed through her eyes. Ah, yes. She had business to take care of.

And the meeting she had to escort Elise to was not quite what she was thinking about.

* * *

 “You’re late.” Elise gave her an impatient look. Her crimson hair swayed lightly against her face as a breeze swept through the courtyard.

“I had people to kill and information to torture out of my victims.” Arno coolly refuted, an amused look in her eyes. How Elise flinched at her statement was no surprise to her.

She knew what her childhood friend thought of her.

Just like everyone else, Elise knew what Arno was.

A monster.

“I hate to interrupt your delightful chat, Templar dogs,” Bellec dropped onto the courtyard, “But hearing gossip between you two ladies is not remotely interesting.”

“Ah, you’re that bastard I’ve heard about.” Arno absently commented.

“I could say the same. Arno Dorian, the _salope_ who went a step further than her whore of a mother did,” Bellec looked her straight in the eyes and sneered, “Like mother, like daughter I suppose.”

“You’re right. I had a brain, like my mother. I give you my sincerest apologies if females having actual intelligence is insulting to you, Monsieur Bellec.”

The old war dog shifted slightly, An obvious sore spot for him gender was. Perhaps, it had something to do with Sophie Trenet and the power she held in the Brotherhood.

“Do not make excuses, you lying snake.” Arno brought a hand up to touch her pendant lightly at the mention of 'snake.'

Ouroboros.

“Perhaps, I am a snake,” Arno lowered her eyes, “But you are worse...”

The sound of blades unsheathing filled the courtyard.

“For at least Templars do not forsake their promises.” she finished. Her crimson cloak swayed and hid her figure as she gripped her weapons. Elise gave her a look.

Arno nearly laughed. It wasn’t her fault exactly that this meeting went down like this. Speaking of mothers, she couldn't help but add, "If we're going to get into mothers, then I must say... _nique ta mère_."

A momentary silence came over the area, before her statement set in. She could practically hear the old Assassin fume from where she was standing. Elise shot an incredulous look at her, which Arno waved off.

If they were going to fight, she might as well have some fun.

“Attack!” Bellec commanded his Assassin puppets. Arno brought out her sword and dagger in warning, a good deterrent they were. The least she could do was ward them off for how much longer was possible.

“Elise, go to the estate,” Her friend gave her an incredulous look, “I’ll be right behind you.” After a second of hesitation, the redhead nodded reluctantly.

Arno stowed away her weapons and slowly grabbed a smoke bomb from her pouch and rolled it out to the majority of Assassins in front of them. Best to hope that they did not have Eagle Vision. Although, the special ingredient in the smoke bomb would disable them to an extent.

Angry shouts and yells directed at her only pushed Arno to push up the cloth hanging around her neck to her nose. She dashed into the red gas filling the courtyard and lunged at the nearest enemy.

Her dagger sliced through their neck in a spray of blood before cutting through the air to block an attack from her left.

Arno grunted as she shoved the nameless Assassin with her body before kicking off. They stumbled before yelling out in agony. Arno had cut off the arm waving their weapon and followed up with a deep slice through the shoulder thus embedding the sword deep into their shoulder.

The enemy collapsed onto their knees in agony, as her blades cut through the air. A split second later, their head rolled onto the ground.

Arno noticed the smoke clearing up and knew she had to resort to long-range measures. She brought out her air rifle and sniped out the farthest enemies. Only the slightest of sounds, the whistling noise, resulting from firing the gun.

The cold rage that bubbled inside her chest during every battle strengthened with the satisfaction of killing them.

From the corner of her eye, Bellec, with his glowing red form, aimed at her. Arno rolled out of the way, just barely dodging a phantom blade in her direction.

She holstered her rifle onto her back as well as her melee weapons. Arno threw a well-placed smoke bomb at Bellec and scrambled up the nearest building.

She ran across the roof and jumped to the next one, before skidding to a stop. The Templar looked back to see Assassins on her trail.

Arno looked at the ground and then at the angry, approaching face of Bellec.

Bellec or ground.

She paused idly in thought.

Ground, it was then.

And so she jumped.

* * *

 “What happened?” Elise questioned as Arno gingerly touched her head.

“Bellec.” She said like that would explain everything.

“Shay is supposed to be arriving today to provide support for the Parisian Rite.”

“Good.” Arno tersely said, the earlier events with the captive still on her mind. The thrill and single-minded focus fighting brought her diminished with every passing second. It almost made Arno want to go out and fight the Assassins again. Conflicted emotions warred inside her chest before confusion ultimately won out.

What was she supposed to do?

Shay killed her father, but he was still her mentor.

The person who taught her how to survive and told her the truth when no one else dared to. On the other hand, he had admitted to manipulating her, something she still felt conflicted about.

Perhaps, in the end, what path she chose to venture would not matter.

“Ouroboros,” Arno whispered to herself.

Her companion made an inquiring sound to which Arno responded with an absent nothing.

Some things were best left untold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested to know, Arno's air rifle is the Girandoni air rifle, a weapon used during the Lewis and Clark expedition as well as in the Austrian Army. Also, this takes place shortly after the time Germain was killed in canon. As for why I decided to have genderbend Arno in this, the reason has to do with the upcoming prequel I want to write. Another thing I would like to mention is that Shay will be a main character in this, of course. So he will be appearing in the next chapter. I just wanted this chapter to introduce things and set the events in motion like Arno finding out the truth from the Assassin captive.


	2. losing control

The tension in the courtyard could be cut with a dull knife. Arno could feel her hands tremble, but not from fear. No…

It was uncontrollable, and it was not of her volition.

A ringing filled her ears. It thrummed and beat with her every heartbeat.

Footsteps came closer, and closer until finally-

He was right in front of her.

“Shay,” she said hoarsely. Her throat felt like someone had stuffed a gag down it. She knew the feeling all too well, from personal experience.

“Arno,” Her mentor greeted in turn. An acknowledging nod to her before focusing on Elise. A hot flash of indignation licked up her spine. How could he just act oblivious to the truth?

The ringing became louder.

“Monsieur Cormac, perhaps you could come another at a more convenient time,” her friend cast a rather anxious glance to her. Arno almost laughed. She was fine.

Yes, she was just-

_finefinefinefine-doit- whatareyouwaitingforyounaivegirl_

The tenacious hold she had on Them slipped momentarily.

“May I ask why, Master De La Serre?” Arno’s pupils dilated. Her breath hitched minutely. This presence...

_areyoujustgoingtoletthemdothattoyou-killhim-killthemall-_

“Shut up,” Her hands became entangled in her hair as she clutched her head in an attempt for silence.

For peace.

_killHIM_

“Shutupshutup!” Arno felt hands grab her wrists and force her to look at them. Her eyes snapped open to fix on the sight of her mentor's pitch black eyes…

And something inside her just snapped. 

* * *

Elise calmly sipped her tea as Arno currently entertained herself with the oh so delightful activity of strangling Shay Cormac.

Not that Elise minded all that much. She wanted the man to suffer.

This was the man who corrupted Arno and took her away from Elise. The very person who dared to confess that he manipulated her friend-

“Shouldn’t we stop them?” Oliver Brown, a fellow Templar who has accompanied Shay and Arno on the Morrigan, interrupted her thoughts.

“They need to get… this sorted out.” Did she forget to add sugar to the tea? The warm liquid suddenly felt bitter in her mouth.

Oliver went quiet for a moment, “Do you want them to fight?”

“What exactly are you implying, Monsieur Brown?” Her blue eyes narrowed dangerously at him.

A warning.

Nevertheless, Oliver continued, “You seem to want Arno to be banished from the Order.”

“I never considered you to be such a great detective.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from her voice. Still, Elise sighed, “Before she came back to Paris and I realized that she became a Templar, Arno used to be so innocent… the only part of my old life that had yet to be tainted by this bloody war.”

Oliver casts a sympathetic glance at her, but his words were still unyielding, “Arno isn’t yours, Miss De La Serre. She isn’t anyone’s... well maybe Shay’s.”

Elise’s heart skipped a beat. Don’t tell her that they...no, the very thought was not proper for her to entertain. A relationship such as theirs was not quite unheard of, but still…

It was Arno. The girl she would spend time sword fighting with and be the older sister to that younger sibling she never got to have.

Elise nearly spat out her tea in her haste to dare ask the question on her mind, “What did you just say?” she said lowly. Oliver almost looked sheepish, “My apologies, I didn’t mean in that way. You see,” he had an almost wistful expression on his face, “Whether you love or hate a person, your world seems to revolve around them. Hence you are almost their’s in a way.” Turmoil was still evident in her blue eyes, but his message had gotten through.

“I...I should stop them now.” Oliver smiled in relief as Arno finally reliquished her grip on his captain's throat.

* * *

Arno knew that the hands currently clamped around Shay’s neck were not there because of her actions or will.

Like a mindless puppet, she followed her master’s commands.

However, she still had a will of her own.

“Kill me.” Arno managed to grit out before her mouth clamped shut-

_"Are you proud of me, father?" Blood caked her fingernails and ugly red scratchs covered her arms and tear-stricken face._

_"Balance of ~~~~power. An ouroboros, if you want to use symbolism." The red and black smoke making up his form brushed over her skin. His fingers traced a scar decorating her wrist, as he conveyed a contemplating look._

_"There will come a time, when you need to make a decision. Take this as a token of my gratitude." The old woman pressed the pendant with its silver chain into her bloody hands._

Arno's eyes widened at the sudden influx of memories hitting her. Her 'puppet master' could only be him.

Not only that, he was resorting to using her memories against her. Disjointed ones, but memories nonetheless. 

She would have shaken her head to snap herself out of her pointless thoughts. Arno needed to focus on two things:

Breaking free and, as much as she hated to admit it, Shay.

Speaking of the man, the look of consideration at her demand could be seen in Shay's eyes, but a hardened resolve soon entered them. 

 _Damn him_ , she thought. But knowing him, he already was... and so was she.

If her mentor truly did see her as a puppet or a tool like his actions, at face value, suggested, then perhaps it would be better off for both of them for her to die.

She would keep whatever dignity and identity she could have before she died, and Shay...well he would live.

“I really should, lass.” Before she or rather the person controlling her could react, Shay had somehow reversed their positions. He pinned her arms down and looked down at her with that damned expression of his.

“You’re going to need more than just a stroke of luck to defeat me,” She growled. An odd mix of fond exasperation, hatred, and disbelief somehow mixed into that one statement.

He leaned closer to her face, breath almost ghosting over her face and weight baring down on her, “I make my own luck, Arno.”

“You made that obvious, you bastard.” She wanted to punch that smirk of his right off his face.

“Finally saying insults in English? I’m so proud.” The pointless banter they had did nothing to quell her rage at him, but Arno could slowly feel control bleeding back to her.

“I learned from the best.” Arno glared up at him with a smirk on her lips.

Shay chuckled before releasing her arms…

This time, Arno knew exactly what she was doing.

She was in control.

Her hidden blade extended out and was barely centimeters away from his neck, “Don’t underestimate me.” A simple challenge, one would take that at face value.

But the mentor and student knew better.

It was a message.

**_This was not over._ **

“I don’t think I ever will,” he let out a bark of laughter, yet the bitter smile on his lips contradicted the action.

Arno would know. After all, she did it all the time.

Her life was one big mess of contradictions.

A Templar born of Assassin heritage. A Frenchwoman serving the American Rite.

What’s next?

Traitor-

_BANG!_

Arno's head jerked towards Elise's direction. The Templar Grandmaster still held a smoking flintlock in the air, with another gun held tightly in her other hand. 

"You have a good master." Her mentor commented with an odd expression on his face. Arno never could tell whether it was of melanchony or of nostalgia, "It would be a shame for something to happen to her." The idle comment made Arno's blade press against Shay's throat, until the true meaning of his words seeped in.

Bellec.

“The air is still,” Shay suddenly stated. Arno's back straightened immediately.

“And I am the hunter.” she finished instinctively, the phrase had been practically drilled into her memory. A knowing look dawned on her eyes.

Two pairs of eyes looked at the two with different expressions. One of confusion and the other of contemplation.

But both knew the exchange between master and student meant one thing:

The hunt was on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was supposed to not be this... weird and strange. I had planned in my outline for this to just be Arno being angry and fighting with Shay, but then I thought about adding something different. Another reason why I did add some strange elements in this is that I wanted to include some things that would be major in the prequel that still effect Arno in the events of Ouroboros. If anyone is confused by what Arno is suffering from (or why she is a bit unstable in this), try to remember Arno's special ability in Unity that Ubisoft didn't really place much emphasis on for some reason. I want to amplify Arno's ability in this AU, so things get a bit (or a lot)strange.
> 
> Another thing I want to explain is Arno and Shay's relationship. What Oliver said about their relationship isn't actually completely true. Let's just say that there is a lot of speculation about their relationship that isn't quite factual. Also, if the part at the end, seemed random. I did that on purpose to show that Arno and Shay's interactions can flip on a dime a lot of times. So the people around them tend to get confused when one moment they are talking peacefully with one another, and then glaring at each other the next. Their relationship is complicated, to say the least. 
> 
> As for my research for the gun, I wanted Arno to have a long range weapon that wasn't just another copy of Shay's prototype air rifle. Unfortunately for Arno, the Girandoni air rifle has a cast iron air reservoir that needs 1500 strokes to fill it. I am 100% sure that I am going to write a scene with Arno glaring at Shay and his air rifle, while tiredly filling her air reservoir.


	3. never going back

“I’ll be in touch, then. _Au revoir_.” Arno bid farewell before turning to leave. The conversation had turned to the topic of assassinating Bellec and that council of his. There was much to plan and prepare for such a key move for the Parisian Rite.

“Are you sure you can kill him?” Elise questioned with a doubtful tone evident.

“Considering that I have already shamed my father and his legacy by conspiring with his killer, I have no qualms with killing his mentor,” Arno said dryly, ignoring the doubt of her loyalties and abilities directed at her. That one jab at Shay was something she just could not resist adding in.

“I searched for fifteen years for that damned box and fate led me to your father,” Shay said to her. His hand held a firm grip on her wrist.

“You have it wrong,” Arno stared at her mentor’s dark eyes with blunt honesty coating her words, “You led my father to his fate.”

“I won’t apologize for killing him,” Shay said earnestly. He took a step towards her, “But I...feel remorse for you having to see his corpse. No child should ever see such a sight.”

“And yet I did.” Whether or not her mentor felt remorse for doing so, did not matter. Her father was dead. A truth she accepted years ago with complete and utter heartache as well as the naive stupidity of a child.

So what was the point, then?

Should she hold on to something that no longer mattered?

If not, why did every fiber in being screamed at her to do something?

Anything.

The familiar pressure building in her chest and eyes was dangerous. Arno breathed deeply. She couldn’t afford to lose control, not after just regaining it moments ago.

“I believe we are punished by our sins, not for them,” Arno’s lowered eyes moved up to stare at Shay straight in the eyes, “You of all people should know that.”

It was one of the few truths that both haunted and comforted Arno by her every waking moment.

_Sinner, a voice hissed at her._

“Aye, I do.” The look that flitted across her Shay’s face brought her no satisfaction much to her surprise.

“Good,” Arno began, “Because I will face the same fate when I am done with you.”

“After the mission.”

“After the mission.” she agreed. Her loyalty to the Order was still true.

The only question was whether the same could be said for her loyalty to her mentor.

* * *

  _When she was a child, Arno would always wonder why she heard whispered stories of terrified children getting run over by carriages because of a lack of caution. But as she faced the encroaching wave and ignored the yell to brace, she understood those children._

_It was an odd yet terrifying mix of fear and awe at the inevitable, approaching danger._

_Boricua was her only thought. The events that happened there flashed through her head and the muffled scream she choked out under the water pushing her under._

_It was a combination of all of these that rooted her to the spot._

_The wall of water slamming into her came as no surprise. The icy waters of the Atlantic and the force throwing her off the ship made her gasp out..._

_Water filled her throat, and Arno... she couldn't breathe-_

Arno jolted awake with a desperate gasp escaping her lips. She lay there in confusion before shaking her head.

Just a dream.

The comforting yet odd smell of hot chocolate, leather, and tobacco was non-existent in the room. It had been a while since Arno had felt alone. And what a terrible feeling it was.

She looked at her father’s watch, ignoring the sense of turmoil it brought her, and sighed at the time.

Arno got out of bed with a soft sigh of discontent and looked through the drawers for her blue naval robes she donned for mild temperatures, only to have her fingers brush against biting cold metal. She looked down in surprise and saw the symbol.

The Celtic eternity knot.

Shay had given it to her as a gift.

Two gifts of such kind had been given to her in Arno’s life.

One, a curse and warning. While the other a blessing and reminder.

This one was the later.

Her fingers lingered on the cool metal before grabbing the fabric of her robes.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself.

Lie.

She slipped on her robes with the intent to doing some early patrol throughout Paris.

Getting a cake with tea at Cafe Theatre, a place she recently managed to purge its Assassin influence, would do her good for breakfast.

Hopefully.

* * *

 As it would turn out, dreaming about someone boiling a man’s leg alive ruined the appetite.

You learn new things every day, Arno dryly thought.

“You look as murderous as ever, Dorian.”

“And you look like you jumped in the Seine.” Knowing him though, he most likely did exactly that.

“You-”

“Information,” Arno leaned closer with her air rifle increasing her stature by little, “Now.”

“Such lack of patience coming from such an unladylike-” The Assassin cut himself off at her suddenly pleased look, “Information. Yes, the Headquarters is located at the riverfront. You know Saint Chapelle and the main chapel’s atrium? You can find the headquarters there.”

“You’ve answered my question,” She paused for several seconds before glancing at the Assassin’s face sharply, “What are you waiting for? You want a bullet to the face?”

Normally, Arno wouldn’t resort to using threats of physical harm against her spies. But the man had caught her at a bad time.

The Assassin gave her a non-discreet glare before disappearing into the crowd walking past the alleyway.

“Saint Chapelle...” She trailed off in thought. The irony of the fact was not lost on her.

Assassins and saints. How ironic it was for the Assassins to build their headquarters under a chapel, a place of worship.

“Hide in plain sight,” she mused. One of the tactics frequently used by Assassins. Unfortunately for them, merely covering their face with a hood tended to make the Assassins more noticeable at times. Not that Arno was complaining.

Finding the targets was only half the story. Assassinating them...well that was another story altogether.

It was also the first one taught to her by Shay.

_“To become the hunter, you need to understand the prey.” Arno breathed deeply at the sight of a young Assassin, most likely an Apprentice. She and her mentor watched in silence as the Assassins took down several soldiers in graceful, and fluid motions. Even her target kept up with his hidden blades extended like the claws of a predator._

_It was at that moment did she wonder who was truly the hunter and the prey._

Now, this time she did not wonder for she knew the truth.

It didn’t matter if she had to take down Bellec and his council single-handedly.

Arno would do it, even if it killed her.

Perhaps, that was what terrified Elise.


	4. breaking the cycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some of you (or a lot of you) may not like this ending... at all.

 

 

“This brings back memories,” Shay commented. Deciding not to reply, Arno wordlessly going inside the dark passageways to the Assassin Hideout. It was best to not talk to him during a job. Strangling Shay again would certainly hinder the mission at hand. The damp air felt almost suffocating, with its heavy embrace. When they got to the gate, Arno cocked her head in question at Shay who motioned with his rifle.   
  
Arno hastily backed away, knowing what was coming next. She covered her ears with a deadpan expression evident on her features.  
  
The not so subtle explosion of a grenade blasted the bars away. Having activated her eagle vision and noticing the enemies a distance away from the door, Arno hurled a smoke bomb far into the debris cloud and heard angry shouts in reaction.  
  
She nodded at Shay, who took the chance to dispatch the guards ahead. Arno stalked her way to the study room, from what she could tell based on the schematics for the headquarters she had acquired.  
  
Soley relying on her eagle vision for a moment, Arno failed to notice Bellec’s ambush until it was too late.  
  
She barely managed to recover from being blindsided enough to dodge the incoming hidden blade. Her sword and dagger were quickly drawn, and she assumed a defensive position with her dagger raised and sword ready to follow.  
  
“Impressive,” Bellec comments before lunging at her. She activates her Eagle Vision and set off a smoke bomb with chili powder in it. The effect bothered her to a certain extent but Bellec… he was temporarily vulnerable at the moment.  
  
She went to fire her gun at him only to stop as a projectile blade knocked the sword out of her hand and found that her gun was on empty.  
  
Damn flintlocks.  
  
Bellec attacked her with a slash, which she managed to block with her dagger before rolling out of the way and scoring a shallow cut on the leg.  
  
“That Templar taught you well, salope.” he bitterly laughed before extending his arm to her. She could see the mechanism of his Phantom blade activating. She jerked herself to the left and bit back a cry of pain at the small blade entering her shoulder.  
  
" _Ta geule_!" She shot back, while gritting her teeth.  
  
Only a flesh wound, she reminded herself. The medical knowledge gained by watching and learning from the Morrigan’s resident doctor taught her that much.  
  
Forcing herself to move and take advantage of Bellec’s kneeling figure, Arno landed an attack only to be blocked by Bellec’s rapier. The man stood up albeit shakily, and Arno knew this fight’s outcome was already decided.  
  
Noticing the man preparing for a heavy attack, Arno anticipated the blow and landed one of her own. Both of the attacks clashed against each other.  
  
The two stumbled back slightly from the force. Arno recovered faster with her slighter injuries and rushed at the man only to kick off of him like a springboard.  
  
Her sword, in a daring wide arc, cut deep through Bellec’s shoulder and somewhat into his chest. Her dagger, in her other hand, severed the Master Assassin’s arm entirely in the following motion. Her sword then went through his neck in a spray of blood.  
  
Crimson liquid landed on her blue robes, which Arno only gave a shuddering breath at. The exhilaration of fighting wore down, and with that, the weight of her decision bore down on her…  
  
_Make a choice, little one._

* * *

“Good job, lass.”  
  
“Not too bad yourself, sea dog.” Arno took a glancing look at the corpses behind him. Darts and numerous cuts coated their skin, like colors on a painting.  
  
None of the two spoke. The tension in the old building with its morbid feeling of death could have been cut with a dull knife.  
  
“Do you regret taking me as your apprentice?” Arno suddenly asked with a questioning look directed at Shay. Her voice was deceptively calm.  
  
“Regret? No, I just wished that I...”  
  
“You didn’t screw me up so much that even my sister sees that I am a monster?” she asked.  
  
“I was talking about Boricua and the incident with Connor Kenway, lass.” Arno hissed under her breath at both the mention of the country and that man.   
  
_Heavy footsteps came closer and closer until they just..._  
  
Stopped.  
  
Arno was biting into her arm to muffle the silent scream rising in her throat. The cold dead eyes of the soldier, Richard if she remembered correctly, stared at her unblinkingly.  
  
She didn't know what happened in that instance. Only that the bleary vision she gained with her tears suddenly melted into a cold, clear cut gray with one glowing crimson figure in the clearing.  
  
Arno vaguely felt something hot trickle down her cheek, yet payed no mind to it. The crimson figure was tearing into something with what looked like an axe. Wailing could be heard and Arno's bite on her arm strengthened painfully.  
  
Good. Pain was splendid. Beautiful even, in this terrifying moment of pure and utter...  
  
Fear.  
  
Her hands shook lightly at the reminder of what exactly happened in both incidents, more specifically her first encounter with the Assassins.  
  
“It wasn’t your fault,” But my father’s death was, was what the vindictive side of her wanted to shout.  
  
It wanted to scream at the man in front of her.  
  
“I won’t apologize for your father’s death out of righteousness,” He looked at her straight in the eyes with a knowing look, “You and I both know that our occupation leaves little to no room for mercy.”  
  
Arno gnashed her teeth. Oh, how she wanted to scream at him and make him feel exactly what she did when she saw her father’s cold corpse on that crimson carpet.  
  
But how could she when she did the same thing.  
  
She murdered countless of children's fathers in the name of order and the Rite.  
  
Her mentor did the same with her father as she did with those innocent children’s fathers.  
  
But, in the end, Arno knew why she couldn’t bring herself to kill Shay.  
  
It was simple.  
  
Arno couldn’t kill the only person that understood her.  
  
Someone who committed the same sins as her.  
  
Like Shay had Lisbon, Arno had Aguadilla.  
  
He was the only one who could understand the guilt and terror of being caught in a destruction of your own making.  
  
But most importantly, Arno was tired.  
  
Tired of being angry at her mentor, at the world.  
  
At Elise.  
  
It was at that moment did Arno finally realize the true message behind that old woman’s warning.  
  
It wasn’t about the never-ending cycle, but more on what was causing it.  
  
Something inside of her snapped as she now leaned against her sword for support as she knelt down.  
  
“I’m tired.”  
  
“Aren’t we all?”  
  
“No, I...” Arno trailed off.  
  
Her eyes fixed themselves on the hand softly touching her hair. Her mentor knelt beside her as he ruffled her hair.  
  
“Whatever you do,” His eyes softened minutely, “I will never regret you, anamcara.”  
  
Her eyes widened and the tight grip she had on her sword instinctively relaxed. The last time Shay said that word was when she departed for France.  
  
She let out a shuddering breath.  
  
‘ _Damn you, Shay_ ,' Arno thought. The man truly did have too much power over her with that word.  
  
She tensed minutely before relaxing as she came to a decision.  
  
One that would decide both of their fates.  
  
Arno reached out her hand to latch onto the crossbelts secured across Shay’s chest and forced him closer, “Lie to me again, and I will not be as lenient.”  
  
The Irishman sighed, “I hope it won't ever come to that then.”  
  
He wasn’t the only one who thought that way.  
  
A rare sort of silence overcame them.  
  
“How long until reinforcements arrive?” Shay suddenly stated as she relinquished her grip on his crossbelts.  
  
“Roughly four hours. Why?”  
  
“That’s the time we have to run before that Grandmaster of yours finds us.”  
  
“...This attack wasn’t approved, was it?”  
  
“Afraid not, lass.” The sheepish grin on Shay’s face said it all.  
  
“ _Fils de pute!_ ”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I wasn't really being lazy with the ending. I had thought of numerous endings and this one just stuck with me. If this ending really bothers you, I can write an alternative ending. Although, I'm not sure even that would fix this. Anyway, if you do not like this, all I ask is that you be respectful in the comments. Also, there might be another chapter for this. Thanks for reading!


	5. your blood's gone bad (I knew it would)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elise entertains company at the de la Serre estate, and when the order is given, Arno takes care of them.

* * *

  ** _"Your blood's gone bad, I knew it would."_**

_-_

_Hunt You Down by The Hit House feat. Ruby Friedman_

* * *

"We must humbly thank you for entertaining us in your fine home, Madame de la Serre."

"Ah, thank you. Although, I would rather you address me as Grandmaster."

"Of course, Ma-Grandmaster. Forgive us for this transgression."

"I will forgive you for that." Elise rose in her seat, "A toast to my late father and his service to the Order." Everyone seated in the room raised a glass in respect. All except for the lone standing figure, obscured by the shadows that were nestled in the corner of the room, hidden by drapes. The smooth, crimson liquid slid down their throats as the men at the table greedily swallowed it down like a man that hasn't seen wine in a decade.

Or perhaps, rather a man who is guilty and being in front of the blood court.

"Guilty." Her Grandmaster nodded to the man to the far left with a cold look in her eyes, one that made Arno almost react to. But she had seen that look before.

Don't let revenge consume you, my friend.

The man clutched his throat and wheezed futilely. His frantic eyes shot a glare filled with anger and betrayal at Elise.

"Oh, don't be like that." Elise said as smooth as honey and wine mixed, "You didn't think that I remembered about your betrayal of my father, did you?"

A muffled groan and another fell.

And only one remained with a relaxed look on his face. Elise's eyes turned to be calculating, and hardened, a slight nod in his direction alerted Arno to what needed to be done.

 _'Elise, I don't mind bathing my hands in the blood of the guilty. But why do you insist on doing it yourself?',_ Arno thought.

The length of rope she held in her hands was put over his neck and pulled back. Arno could hear the man wheezing for breath and feel his body writhe and jerk wildly, sending plates and delicate, ornate glasses to the floor. His hands reached back and grabbed her hair and tried to scratch her eyes, but Arno only pulled harder on the rope.

It had taken several minutes, but his struggles began to weaken until his body went limp.

It had taken shorter than usual. Perhaps, the poison had still weakened the man.

Arno released the rope with a sigh and looked over at the redhead across the table. Her eyes were cold and expression ever frostier.

"When will you stop?"

"Until they are all gone," Elise replied simply.

Arno could only feel a part of her wilt at the realization of the truth.

"You were supposed to be innocent."

"And so were you," she replied, "But your actions in America make my actions nothing in comparison. I didn't call you here to patronize my actions nor act as my moral advisor. Remember, your role under the Order."

"You are my executioner."

 _Yours to use_ , Arno thought. And indeed she was.

_"You will always belong to someone. Whether it be one or many, there will always be ownership over you." His small stature towered over her prone figure on the ground. Her hand was slick with blood flowing down the cut, and she glared up at him._

**_"Remember, you're mine."_ **

* * *

To an oblivious person, Shay Cormac would seem like a weathered merchant with the rugged look on his features and roughened attire. But the look in his eyes as he stood in front of her was of no merchant.

A Templar, he was. And a Templar he acted as.

"What bids your presence here, Monsieur Cormac?"

"My apprentice."

"What of her?"

"Arno... was trained by the American Rite as was our contract with your late father. However, the fact remains that she is not bound to the Parisian Rite and other than the adoption as a ward of your family, she has no ties to Parisian Rite."

Elise narrowed her eyes, "What exactly are you implying?"

"Take care of her," Shay said slowly, "For there is always another to welcome her into their ranks."

"I haven't mistreated her,"

"We did not send her here to be an executioner, only an ally of the American Rite to assist you in reclaiming your rightful position."

"Oh, she told you then." Elise mused.

Shay chuckled, "She never tells me anything like this, except for when she is drunk. And make no mistake, Grandmaster, I do care for my apprentice." he admitted with no shame in his voice.

"And because she cares for you, I will give you my advice," Shay paused, "There was once a Grandmaster I served, and he wasn't felled by anything except his own emotions. If you let yours get in the way, I'm afraid Arno would lose a second de la Serre."

"You once served Haytham Kenway, right? Then surely you know that he was felled by his own son."

"Aye," Shay's eyes were cold, "What I am trying to say is that as Grandmaster, you can't afford to let emotions cloud your judgments."

"I am only clearing away the traitors of the old Rite."

"Then do so," he said easily, "But emotions can easily cloud your view on who is friend and foe."

"I can control my own emotions, Monsieur Cormac. Can you do the same?"

"Why do you think I'm not Grandmaster?" he answered with a question. Shay then glanced at the clock on the wall with an amused look, "Ah, I"m running late. Looks like I'll need to pay... again. Miss de la Serre, I did not come in here with the intention of threatening you. But do remember who put you on your throne, and who could take it away." Shay Cormac then nodded towards her with that blasted amused look and walked away.

Elise pinched her nose lightly at a migraine coming forth. Her father had once complained about those American Templars and the brashness in them. She could now understand where her father was coming from. Oliver himself seemed to enjoy teasing even the Grandmaster of the Parisian Rite as his teasing knew no bounds or ranks. But Shay Cormac... he was on an entirely different level.

What he did to Arno and allowed her to do already gnawed at Elise. But ever since having heard Oliver talk about their relationship and seeing them coming back practically hand in hand, it only further ate at her.

And now Shay Cormac was the reason for her now consistent migraines.


	6. a poisonous touch

_“Get the Arsenic, pisspot.” Bellec sighed, “And for God’s sake, don’t leave your name like you did last time.”_

_“It’s Auguste Durand-”_

_“Pisspot,” Bellec gritted out with an increasing scowl marring his features, “Get moving. Now.”_

“Oh, you’ve been naughty, Bellec.” she murmured to herself, blinking from the sudden onset of memories, just as a servant set down the day’s breakfast on the table.

“What did you do now?” The redhead asked over her cup of steaming tea, “That smile on your face tells me that you've been scheming once again.”

“Whatever do you mean, Grandmaster?” Elise sent her a dry look. Arno bit back a chuckle at that look.

“It’s Elise, and you know it, Arno.” _I can understand why they teased me now_ , Arno thought. It was just oh so entertaining.

“And to think I thought you were a stickler for formalities.” Arno teased with her voice light and playful.

“They get tiresome,” Elise acknowledged with a slight smile on her lips. The relaxed manner Arno had begun to affect her as the banter continued between them.

“If you have no more tasks for me,” Arno paused, a concentrated look on her features. A flash of something indescribable struck Elise’s chest. Was Arno leaving Paris already?

“-Then I will be weakening the Parisian Brotherhood.” She finished.

“The Assassins are already crippled as it is with their Mentor dead.” Elise answered, “I won’t be wasting your time on something that is already taken care of.”

“You have mercy,” Arno commented nonchalantly with eyes steady and dark. _Just like her mentor’s_ , Elise thought.

“-But mercy is a gift that is rarely given.”

“You offered it to Shay Cormac.”

“Like I said,” Arno grinned with teeth, her tricorn hat tilting downward and shadowing dark eyes,  “A gift.” _Rarely given_ , went unsaid.

“You want to be a wise Grandmaster like your father. Understandable. However, the same dealings with the Assassins helped lead to his death. Image amongst both friend and foe is of the utmost importance.”

“I won’t be a tyrant.”

“No, you will be fair and just,” Arno said amicably.

“Then, what do you want?”

“Let me handle this.”

_‘I’ll bloody these hands of mine for you, Elise.’_

“Care for some jasmine, Grandmaster?” Arno asked suddenly as another tray was set down. She took one cup and reached into her waistcoat, procuring a vial. The contents of the glass vessel spilled into the scented, steaming liquid as soon as the cork was pulled free.

“The color is different than mine,” Elise commented, watching the contents mingle with the tea.

“It’s something that would be rather unpleasant for you to drink,” Arno said, “Tolerance is something worthwhile if the opportune time presents itself.”

“And that time is now?” Elise asked, realizing that Arno had just done.

“Well, there’s no assassination attempt, for the moment.”

“Don’t overdose,” Elise warned. She had heard of Mithridatism before from other Templars. It was a prominent practice in the Inner Sanctum and something that her father had most likely undergone.

It was something she herself would have performed as well.

Arno chuckled, “I can’t get high on poison.” she said as if that explained everything.

Arno stared into the sickly, yellowish mixture that was now the tea. Her interactions with the redhead had come to be unpredictable. One moment, they would act like nothing had ever changed since she had left for America and the next, they would both be acting like completely different people.

 _'Perhaps, it could be just me.'_ Arno thought. After all, she was the one who changed the most. Elise was as quick witted and ambitious as ever with a fiery temperament still in her. As for Arno, well, a snake would always shed its skin every so often.

* * *

Arno knew that Bellec had poisoned Mirabeau.

She was certain as she knew it from the memories of Bellec himself.

Now, all she needed was the proper evidence to support the claim she would make. There was also the need for someone to propose the claim to the council.

Someone of high-rank in the Brotherhood that Arno could still contact and trust to a certain extent.

And that person was-

“Gabriel,” Arno greeted, her back still facing him.

“I thought we were not to meet after America.”

“I need a favor.”

“No,” Gabriel sighed, “How is that mentor of yours treating you?” he asked suddenly.

“I found out,” Arno answered readily, expecting this to happen.

“I heard,” Arno could have sworn that she sensed him smiling behind her back, “It’s not every day that Shay Cormac’s apprentice strangles the very man himself.”

“Bellec or Shay?”

“The later,” he commented dryly, “As far as I know, Bellec was killed with a sword and dagger.”

“At least it wasn’t a pair of scissors.”

“There’s that.” Gabriel agreed, his tone relaxing, “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” she spoke softly. The Parisian sun beat down on her back as she stood on the edge.

“What do you need?” Gabriel sighed, “And no, I’m not agreeing. Just listening. You wouldn’t have brought me here to convince me to do something traitorous.” You know me better than that, went unsaid.

“Bellec poisoned Mirabeau, and I need your help.”

He chuckled darkly, “I can’t say that I’m shocked really.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s nothing. Bring me concrete evidence, and I’ll bring this before the Council.”

“And to think, I thought I would have to spend an entire hour convincing you to do this.”

“You could stay here for the remainder,” he suddenly said just as she turned to jump onto the next roof. Her footsteps froze as she turned back.

"We both know that can't happen," Arno said softly.

* * *

The hurried shouts and cries of Parisian streets died out as Arno turned the corner of a building and found herself facing the apothecary shop. She bit back a laugh at the mention of 'perfumes' being sold at the shop. 

 _'Did Bellec happen to come here for perfumes, then?'_ Arno thought sardonically. 

Whistling to herself, Arno pushed the door ajar as a bell rang, signalling her arrival. Her ears caught the all too familiar sound of agony as groans filled the air. Idle eyes looked to the numerous vials and delicate, glass jars shelved on the wooden ledges behind the counter. Her foot nudged something as she moved forward. Curious, Arno glanced down to see a bucket of salt water, if her sense of smell hadn't failed her. 

 _'How typical of an apothecary.'_ Arno thought.

Eyes sliding away from the one bucket on the floor to the source of agonized sounds, Arno sauntered around the counter with boots making the wooden floor boards creak and groan in protest of her approach.

“Arsenic,” She paused, looking down at the man who convulsed on the floor, “Not very original,” She idly commented.

“H-help-”

“Would you like some salt water, Monsieur?”

The man nodded jerkily on the floor. Arno’s hand grasped the bucket of salt water, if her sense of smell was correct, and set the bucket on the floor. The man was already drinking like a horse from the bucket.

“Would you care to tell me if any hooded men came by here?”

“C-can’t tell,” he breathed out. Arno sighed with her eyes lowered.

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” She said quietly. Her hand suddenly fisted the brown hair of the shopkeeper and forced the head down. The man’s body convulsed once again, and his hands and limbs thrashed. Arno forced her hand down even harder, water spilling over the rim of the bucket as white bubbles frothed to the surface, and salt water splashed.

“This could have gone oh so much easier if you would just cooperate, Monsieur.” She jerked his head out of the water as he gasped for air.

“I’m innocent,” he breathed out with panic-stricken eyes looking beadily at her in pure animalistic terror.

A dark smile crept onto her lips at his words, “If there’s one thing I learned in this life is that no one is innocent, pure even.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m not the one who gave out poisons and other perfumes to greedy wives and mistresses. Oh, and I cannot forget the assassinations and who could forget about those poor street urchins.”

“And to think, I'm humane, right now,” Arno leaned closer as she whispered suddenly, “That poison in you? Oh, how it will be an agonizing death for you, my friend. Perhaps, a dose of justice is due to you?”

“You have the antidote, don’t you?”

“Me?” she asked innocently with her finger pointed at herself, “Ah, I am afraid not. However, I do know someone who does. And all you have to do is help me find him in time to save yourself, Monsieur.”

“W...who?”

Arno smiled, “Auguste Durand.” The shopkeeper’s eyes widened.

Yes, _that_ Auguste Durand.


End file.
